


Tucker Two

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-21
Updated: 2006-03-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8092462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: A quiet morning, sharing. (05/11/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Squeaky helped in the final product. Without her wonderful encouragement, this story would never have been posted, due to my lack of confidence in presenting a story. All mistakes, which are many indeed, are mine, certainly not hers. Challenge Fic for List Mother's Day, for Sarah, who makes this place a safe, happy home for everyone. It satisfies 3 out of 4 musts: T/R, humor (I hope), a mother, but not NC-17, it's G.  
  
Beta: Squeaky  


* * *

Leila eased her way downstream, canvas shoes sliding along crispy pine needles, to the quiet slough. This morning the waters lay deep, dark, and untroubled by ripples. She cast her ragged quilt under the spreading fronds of a weeping willow, and sat down, to lean back against its trunk.

Her son, carrying two rods, the tackle box, and the hamper, scattered pebbles in his wake. He jerked his head to the side when a swallow-tail kite dove swiftly for a marsh-rabbit. The frightened rabbit scampered through the 'gator flags, away from the outstretched talons, around a hemlock, twining through the nest of Spanish moss, and hid himself away from the predator.

"Charlie, you've been away from home too long, honey. Still skittish of the warblers?" she said, turning towards him. "Nothing's here that's gonna hurt you. Now, Charlie, it's unnatural for a child of the canebrakes, to be so uncomfortable around the wildlife. These bullfrogs, turtles, and deer are as tame as baby chicks under their mama's breast."

When he glared at her, she took a breath and continued. "And you, Commander Tucker, settin' foot on untamed planets, where no one except the angels have explored; do you hide behind Malcolm everytime some alien creature squawks or roars?" She chuckled to see him blush fiery red.

He grinned, accepting her handkerchief to wipe off the smudge mingled with sweat dripping from his cheeks. He took off his cap, waved it back and forth in the still, sultry air, and crammed it atop his spiky hair.

"Mama," he said, dropping the fishing equipment. "I could've been home, my head in Mal's lap, on the front porch, in the fan-back swing, drinkin' a glass of yer sweet lemon tea, an' instead, ya got me coming into Moonvine Swamp. Now you know me—"

She giggled, "I know most every thing 'bout you, child, took me 19 hours of back-breakin' labor to get you to leave my womb—"

He grimaced, "Hell. Now, Mama, don't bring that up ag'in, please, 'specially in front of Miz Reed. She's English, and Mal's folks don't talk about such personal things in front of their in-laws. Don't want to give her the wrong impres—"

A mockingbird flew into the low boughs of the willow, twittered in an unknown tongue to his mother, interrupting his plea. "— pression, that we're nuthin' but a bunch of uncouth hicks."

She chuckled, negating the withering glance he sent her way.

The sunlight fell through a slit in the canopy of trees, then, and burnished the silver-gold of her son's hair. A slight breeze, soft as a tulip petal, tossed the strands. Charles was her golden boy. Those fine brows and sweet lips so ready to smile, to sympathize, his cheeks so all aglow, clear blue eyes dancing with enthusiasm; oh, yes, this child was her sweetest joy.

"We. _Are_. Hicks." Her laughter rang out, startling the spoonbills and pine warblers into flight.

Trip Tucker wrinkled his nose, stomping at a hard-backed ladybug. He dug her a shallow grave under the moss with the heel of his boot.

"Hicks." She snorted. "Hick with two PH.Ds in Mechanical and Space Engineering, and you have a Master's in Quantum Mechanics, too, my darlin' boy."

He shot her a quick glance, after raising an eyebrow at her. "You never disappoint me, Mama. You always get that look on your face, whenever you start counting out the degrees in the Tucker house. You couldn't wait to start shoving the scrapbooks at Mister and Miz Reed."

She chuckled. "The Reeds and the Tuckers are going to be just fine, Charlie. Mary Reed isn't the uptight Lady of the Manor you think she is. Very sweet once you know her, and earn her trust. She was reared in a very tiny township much smaller than Willow Springs. Her Da was a marine outfitter; he sold ropes and old-fashioned homemade sails. Her Ma owned a rural inn, and rented launches, dinghies, kept them anchored, for hire. Mary was born in a houseboat, and reared in rubber boots. Now Stuart...oh good gravy...!"

Leila Tucker crossed her eyes, slapped at a mosquito which had the misfortune to land on her freckled nose. "That man!" She harrumphed. "When he found out, and I'd like to know the little birdy who let the cat out of the bag, agh! Trip Tucker, I'm a best-selling author, and you're making me mix up my metaphors."

Her son winked at her, and excused himself from that crime. "Malcolm's mom, in her last letter to me, said the 'Admiral' was raving about this American novelist he'd discovered. The look on his face when he discovered you were his son's Mama-in-law!" he laughed, grinning as he slapped at a mutant 'skeeter feeding on his wrist. "Stuart couldn't wait to come to Florida to meet the woman who wrote "Deadweight of the Vanity" and "The Thorkells of Belle Isle."

She winked at him, then shrugged. "Stuart and I found we share a desperate interest in the sea-faring cultures of the past, the Minoans, Phoenicians, Cook, Tasman...that mollified him, somewhat, even if his son had married into a 'hick' family. I don't wonder that he stared aghast at your land-lubbin' father, who stayed home, saw to you and your brother while I shuttled back and forth to Miami for most of the year, and Jacksonville for summer session, at the universities."

Trip opened the tackle box, "Want me to bait your hook?" He took out an extremely ugly brown earthworm, severed it half in two with his boyhood pocket knife, stuck the wiggling thing down butt-end first onto the sharp hook, grimacing at the yellow ichor flowing around his wedding ring. He swiped it clean on his shirtsleeve.

"Dad said channel cats are bitin' early in the afternoon. Malcolm don't care too much for fish. I remember the time he had to settle for processed sea bass; we were on Shuttlepod One then, and thought we were both gonna end up...frozen...dead. Thought I'd never see you and Dad and Mike an'...all."

She closed her eyes, recalling the fear and dread and absolute horror when she received the letter from her son, detailing how he'd survived near-death. "Did you love him, then, Trip, when you decided to destroy your own life to give him that tiny chance of survival—?"

He slung back an arm, arced his line over the pool and dropped it silently. Leila watched the gauzy wings of dragonflies skimming the water-lilies, dipping and swirling.

The fringe of Trip's lashes drooped, fluttered, and he whooped when the bobber went under. He grunted, reeling it in, careful of the stinging whiskers of the catfish, and attached his catch to his stringer.

Leila rose, brushing off a fallen leaf from her braided strawberry blonde hair, and took the metal stringer, knelt by the soft muddy bank and buried the end of it into the earth, letting the fish struggle in its captivity in the shallow waters.

"Loved Mal first time I ever saw him, Mama," Trip continued, "Made me mad as a wet hen when I heard him imitatin' my accent, too. Wanted to throttle the tar outten him, makin' fun o' me. Mis-tah Tuck-ah. Like Scarl-utt and Rhay-ut But-lah. Jonny...Lord, how Jonny laughed when I told him 'bout it.. couldn't we get 'nother arm'ry officer to replace that English asshole?"

She slapped his arm for the vulgarity, disturbing the bobber. "April 13th...ne'er forget that day, Mama, 'course we'd met a few before days 'fore then.. I don't know, it's just a bit of an anniversary, to us, ya know, when we began our journey together."

Leila's smile came out. "I'll never forget the day I knew I'd fallen in love with your father, darlin'. It was storming, forked lightening slashing up the purple sky, rain comin' down so hard I thought the roof was going to plummet on top of us, and it got dark as midnight at two that afternoon. Charles Lee Tucker was stayin' overnight with your Uncle Tim." Her smile at the memory was full of joy.

"Mother and Dad were gone into Panama City, shopping. I was scared as a lone goldfish in the bowl with a starving shark at feeding time. It began to hail, breaking the kitchen window, making me scream to high heaven, glass skittering all over the sink and floor, and in my hair."

Trip stuck out his tongue while skewering the other bleeding half of the twitching worm onto the sharp hook, waiting for the old, old story to finish. Never tired of hearing about Mama's Revelation.

"Your father...well, of course, he was just your father-to-be then, seeing as he was only 12, and didn't care for girls much. He adored Tim instead. Oh, let me tell you how jealous I was of their bond...anyway, darlin', you know, that red-headed boy just ran over to me, gathered me in his arms, and crushed me under him, and we stayed like that, plastered against each other under the dining room table, the damask cloth hiding us...world of our own, and I tucked my chin into his neck."

Trip's baited hook snagged another fish on his line, this time a fat silver and red two-pound bass. He gathered his line in slowly, still interested in listening to a story he'd heard a gazillion times.

"Your Uncle laughed at me, that sorry brat! Called me a fraidy cat, and I got so mad, socked him on the nose, I did, and he squawled, and I got in trouble for it, grounded for a whole week. My new boyfriend wasn't any happier, seeing as he was going to have to reconcile himself for life joined up with a violent help-mate."

The water dimpled again, as Trip cast out his line farther away.

Neither Tucker spoke again for a half hour. They sat, waited, let the serenity of this place invade their souls. Finally, Leila broke the spell. "You ready for some grub, boy? Got some graham crackers, red-rind cheese, and fried pies, here, in my hamper."

His eyes lit up, "What kind of pies?"

"Pecan. We beat the nuts down while you were off fighting Klingons and Andorians, and gettin' pregnant."

"Now...Mama, puh-leeze don't start; lemme have one."

She took a couple from their wrapping of linen, and handed him one, smiling as he greedily bit down. "Your father cooked these, and he made some preserved pineapple tartlets for our son-in-law. Do ya know that Stuart Reed actually mellowed out when he learned Charles Lee would share his secret gumbo recipe."

Trip guffawed. His Pop and the 'Admiral' in the kitchen together? He had to...watch!

"The problem, Stuart says, is in his roux. His always tasted scorched, according to Mary, and when he tasted Charles Lee's, last night at supper, well then, your father told him he could only learn how to make a roux by watching a real 'Cajun' in the kitchen. They're trading recipes, and the Admiral's going to cook Ayam Mask Kicap for supper, his specialty, for their last night before leaving for Kota Baharu in the morning. Charles Lee is experimentin' with Crawfish Etouffe, with Bajak Chile Sauce, and fixin' Better'n Sex Pineapple Dream Cake."

Trip gathered his fish, released them back into the stream, flopping away, and said, "Well, then, Mama. Better go see if Mal's had his shot so he won't get sick. You wanna go home with me, or stay here awhile, communin' with your birds and bugs?"

Eager to lose not one minute while her son was on leave, she tucked the quilt under her arm, shaking it free of dirt, crawlies, twigs, and tiny pebbles, while he crossed a few yards downstream to lave his hands in the clear water. Trip slung rods over his shoulder, stuffed the tackle box under his right arm, and held out the hamper for her to take.

Reaching under the lid, she stole out a couple of over-ripe plums. "Your Gran Anna, Mike, Sheila, and little Dougie are flying in from Kenmare, this afternoon. You and Mal wanna go pick 'em up, have a little time alone, let him play tourist a bit, before meeting them?"

"'Preciate it, but we have time enough, later on for that. This week's just family time, we decided."

She took his hand, kissed the back of it. "Shush, honey. Oh, look, up there, at that snowy egret land on that dwarf cypress an'— isn't he exquisite?"

Trip and Leila left the sweet sanctuary, trodding silently, side by side, her hand upon his left elbow. He was thinking of resting awhile in the porch swing with his own darlin' Malcolm, and Leila was wondering if Charles Lee needed some lovin' care after a mornin' slavin' away over a hot stove wtih the Admiral.


End file.
